


Broken Toy

by Royal Society of Pandas (Abarcelos)



Category: RWBY
Genre: (tm), Angst, Character Study, Child Abuse, I Like Making My Garbage Son Suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abarcelos/pseuds/Royal%20Society%20of%20Pandas
Summary: Half an hour before, if someone had asked Mercury Black an elementary question of where something bad started, where the good things ended, he'd have been able to happily answer that bad things began when you weren't happy, when someone stopped loving you and you started hurting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jsuislfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsuislfrost/gifts).



> Wassup guys! This is a little something that I wrote for tumblr a while ago and just now decided to post it here... I'm really emotional over characters with tragic backstories....... (huge thanks to Frost who helped me a lot at the time I was writing this and who is going through a tough time rn <33 love you boo)
> 
> Title is from Trocadero's Spiritual.

There hadn't been a catalyst, or a place where everything seemed to just go wrong. He realised that now, curled on the floor with bruises blossoming beneath his clothes and tears streaming down his face. Half an hour before, if someone had asked Mercury Black an elementary question of where something bad started, where the good things ended, he'd have been able to happily answer that bad things began when you weren't happy, when someone stopped loving you and you started hurting.

Now, he knew better. His father hadn't stopped loving him. As a leather shoed foot connected with his chest again and again, despite how hard he protected it, Mercury could now tell a questioner that the bad things were always there: because he'd never been truly happy and now he saw that his father had never loved him.

He could fight back, he knew that he could. Marcus had taught him well, but Marcus was the one kicking him and shouting at him and he just couldn’t bring himself to hit his dad. Deep down, Mercury still hoped that it was not his father; that Marcus cared for him and would never do such a thing. And if hope was the last to die, Mercury was starting to think that he’d end up dying along with it.

_Trash._

Kick.

_Useless._

Kick.

_Worthless._

Kick.

His mouth tasted like blood and his vision was blurry. The smell of alcohol only grew stronger by the minute, as did his father’s kicks. Suddenly, all hope he had left was gone— he was an empty shell, a person worthy of pity who had never been truly loved, who was being beaten by the person he trusted most in the world. And, although Mercury could have tried to crawl away, yell for help, or fight back, he didn’t.

Mercury felt like a kid again. Unable to do anything or to truly understand what was happening. He sobbed into the floor, no strength left to lift his arms and shield himself from the next blow. How many had it been so far? How many more left?

“Weak” Marcus shouted “You are weak, Mercury!”

He was, wasn’t he? He was top in most of his combat classes, he could have fought back. The right kick in the right place could end all of it, just like his father taught him. But Mercury lost his chance; he could lift a finger now, even if he wanted to. He was weak, he had always been and always would be.

A right kick in the right place was given to him by Marcus, and he was then engulfed by darkness, one word echoing in the back of his head: Weak. Weak. Weak.

 

* * *

 

 

For the following couple weeks, Mercury didn’t see much of his dad. He spent most of his time in the lab or out on a mission, and when he got home, late and drunk, he would beat Mercury until the boy begged for him to stop—or until he was unconscious, but he rarely let it get that far again.

_This is my life now._

Mercury didn’t have the strength to even think of running away during the day when he was alone. Some of his friends from school showed up once or twice to check up on him, but he hid and pretended that no one was home. He didn’t want them to see him like this, afraid of what they would say about the cuts and bruises, afraid of what they would tell the others.

Mercury Black was, after all, weak.

He didn’t do much with his days, either. In a semi-vegetative state, he dragged by the hours, mind wandering to darker and darker places. At night, the layers of dried up blood in his skin got a new fresh coating.

Every time, Marcus would shout the same things at him. Trash. Useless. Worthless. Weak. Weak. Weak. He promised to make Mercury better. Make him strong. Mercury just wanted it all to end. He wanted his mother. He wanted his _father,_ the sober one. The one who would give him presents and hug him tightly before he went on a mission. Who complained about having to be an assassin, when all he wanted was to be a smith.

“I have to pay the bills and take care of my little Merc, now, don’t I?” Marcus had told him once when he was younger. Mercury wanted to have that again. All he got now was a kick to the chin.

That night, though, when Marcus got home, he didn’t spit in Mercury’s face, didn’t yell at him or kicked him. Marcus stood in front of his son, staring at him for a couple seconds; Mercury didn’t know what to expect.

“You’ll be better than all of them” His father said aggressively. Then, a beer bottle hit him in the head and Mercury was out before he could even process what the Marcus’ words meant.

 

* * *

 

His son had potential, he really did.

Marcus had always seen a lot of himself in Mercury, _and that was the problem._ When his son said that he wanted to fight like his dad, Marcus was proud, taught the kid everything he knew. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have done that.

What he _should_ have done was work hard to put him in a good combat school, forged him the best weapon – or at least given him one. He should have made his son a hunter. Now, look at him: skinny, foolish, weaponless, no aspiration in life. Marcus had raised a weak human being.

But, despite everything, Mercury had potential. So Marcus worked on making him a weapon. Better yet, _turning him_ into a weapon. No one would ever defeat Mercury Black, never catch him off guard.

He looked back at Mercury, out cold over the table at his lab. Oh yes, that kid could kick. But if he had some… extra help, he’d be damn near unstoppable. If he had some kind of propulsion system, an air compressor that could make him kick harder, tougher legs that could take any hit, some built in firing mechanism, _anything_. If he had all that, he would be the best hunter that ever existed. The name of the Black family would be forever remembered. They would be great again, after Marcus managed to throw them down in the mud.

Mercury couldn’t end up like his father. Old, no dreams left, forced to do the unimaginable for money (even if he did make a fair amount). Marcus didn’t want that life for his son. So he spent countless hours working on those weapons, and, finally, they were done. Yes, now all that was left was installing.

He picked up an old axe that he had left with the blade on the fire and looked at the new legs—they were beautiful, the metal reflecting the light cast by the dust used to power it. He had done a good job.

Marcus walked up to his kid who was lying motionless on the table, his grip on the axe tightening. With a few strikes just above the knee, the right leg was off. Blood shot out from the boy’s thigh and soaked Marcus’ clothes. On to the other one.

 

* * *

 

 

Mercury woke up in pain. Not just any pain, it was the most intense pain he had ever experienced in his entire life. And not only that—he also couldn’t feel his legs.

When he sat up, he almost fell back down. The room was spinning and there were tears on the corners of his eyes. He wanted to scream, the pain was unbearable and he could hardly see anything. Mercury still couldn’t feel his legs.

When he looked down at himself he saw why. He had no legs. They had been replaced with some kind of metal prosthetics fuelled by dust. When…? Had it been his father? Did Marcus really have the courage to chop off his son’s legs? Is that what happened? No, maybe he was dreaming that had to be it. A horrible nightmare.

But when he pinched himself he still had those legs, and everything still hurt. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was his reality, a fate chosen to him by some sadistic god, a higher entity who was laughing at his suffering that very moment, who delighted itself in the pain and the misery and the madness that was beginning to set in.

Mercury didn’t have legs anymore. He didn’t have legs because his father chopped them off. His father chopped them off because… because… he didn’t have an answer for that. All he knew was that he was crippled and cold and his whole body shook and ached and he couldn’t believe it.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. He didn’t say anything in particular; even he couldn’t make out what it was that he was shouting. Some promise of revenge against his father, or maybe curses and insults to the god that was laughing at him right now. He wasn’t sure what it was that he was shouting, but he was sure that it didn’t help with the pain.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Mercury a month before he was able to walk again. Not that he had many places to go, he barely moved out of his own will at all. Marcus would show up every day, but he seemed to be there solely for the legs.

Sometimes Mercury wondered what happened to his real legs. Those were the worse days.

A week after the wound had healed Marcus seemed to finally go visit his son for once, instead of just minding about the legs like always. But all the man said was: “You have become very strong, my son” and then simply left.

That was what did it for Mercury. How could his father say that he was strong now? He was crippled, hurting, and betrayed. He had done nothing for the past five weeks besides laying down thinking about his miserable life. But just because now he had fancy new stupid legs he was suddenly stronger in his father’s eyes?

Then and there he finally understood why his father did what he did. Marcus spent so long kicking him and telling him that he was weak, and, in that mad man’s eyes, those legs were what would make him strong. But Mercury didn’t feel strong. He felt pathetic and humiliated and he felt like putting a bullet through his father’s head.

Mercury got to his feet and put on the boots he father had made him. The only emotion he was capable of feeling that moment was rage and he didn’t care that every step he took hurt like a bitch, he didn’t care that he hadn’t fought anyone in so long. All that he cared about was that Marcus Black had done this to him and he was tired of being the kid curled up in the corner crying, the one everybody teased just because, at the end of the day, he would forgive them. So Mercury ran.

He ran towards the house and was capable of reaching Marcus just before he got inside. Without thinking, Mercury aimed a kick on his father’s head, but he was not the strongest after having done nothing for so long. Also, his legs still hurt _so much_.

The kick landed on Marcus’ back. Mercury took advantage of the surprise factor and managed to successfully kick his father’s head. But Marcus quickly realised what was happening, and began to fight back.

Mercury got a kick in the face. Marcus got one as well. Mercury blasted repeated jets of compressed air on his father’s chest, but Marcus stood back up.

The fight was bloody and dirty and hard for both of them. At some point Mercury’s legs began to bleed where the metal met skin. But the boy was not giving up, he would never give up. He needed this revenge against the man he trusted for so long, who betrayed him and spat on him and took advantage of him.

All it took was a right kick in the right place, and Marcus fell on the floor. The blood was pooling around his head and Mercury kneeled down to check on him. Dead.

He felt calmer after that. He didn’t know for how long they fought, but he was panting. His left eye was probably black and his legs were bleeding heavily from the strain. He noticed that it was already night around them. He needed to get out of there.

Mercury was glad that they lived in a house made of wood; it didn’t take long for him to set the whole thing on fire. The flames would soon raise attention from the villagers down the mountain, but he didn’t care about that. He just needed to burn his entire past to the ground.

He was about to run away when he noticed two women staring at him from near the woods. Mercury tried to look intimidating, but he was dirty and tired and, to be honest, the one in red scared him. He thought he looked pathetic, all bruised and wounded, with his shoulders slumped and malnourished appearance.

“What are _you_ looking at?!” Mercury spat.

“I’m looking for Marcus Black” The woman in red told him.

Mercury spat out the blood in his mouth and pointed at the dead man behind him. “There you go”

“ _That’s_ the assassin?” The green-haired woman said in shock.

“And you’re his son” Mercury tried to look bigger again, but he suddenly became very aware of his bloodshot eyes and the blood coming out of his nose. He quickly cleaned it, but he realised that he must have looked like a child who was trying to stop crying. Pathetic. “We saw your fight from the tree line” The woman continued “He’s taught you well.”

Mercury didn’t like that thought, but he just shrugged. “Guess so”

“What’s your name?”

“Mercury”

“Mercury” She tested the name “Tell me, are you _anything_ like your father?”

_No, I would never do the things that he did._

But that was the weak answer. And Mercury was tired of being weak, of being pushed around, of being called trash and useless and worthless. He was going to be strong. Swallowing back his previous answer, Mercury raised his chin, managed to curl his lips into a smirk, looked at the woman in the eyes and said what he thought would sound stronger. More confident. “No. You see, _I’m_ alive.”

They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Money, guidance… a family. So Mercury threw his father’s body into the flames and went away with the women. When the villagers got there they saw a tragedy—father and son killed in a house fire without being able to call for help.

Walking away, Mercury thought about his new life. Nothing would be the same. That was the day Mercury Black was truly born, the day he decided he would never be called weak again.

**Author's Note:**

> royal-society-of-pandas.tumblr.com


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